This is the first revision version, and my writing style is pretty lazy and full of tropes, but please bear with me. Thanks.
I have never been great with naming things either, whether that be people, chapters or stories. So, just a footnote.
Yeah. Enjoy:
[Chapter 1; Start]
Spoiler! :
“A new moon reflects no light.” The shadowy figure in my immediate vision speaks in a deep, guttural voice, while the dim lighting of the sky barely illuminates his compact figure, dancing around the decorative floor in measured steps.
“Yet it signifies the beginning of a new cycle.” My voice echoes slightly against the marbled walls, as I step out into the dim light of the new moon.
“Please, please.” I hear a small sigh come from my master, this time spoken in a distinctly different voice. He comes to a stop, turning to face me directly. “Don’t take me so literally.”
“That was meant to be metaphorical.” I reply, adding a hint of tiredness to my voice.
“So,” I continue, “what did you call me here for?”
“In a word,” he replies, “Chietze.”
“…?” My mind blanks out for a moment.
“Cheese?”
“Yes, Chietze.” He pauses for breath, before continuing. “You know; that thing from the other side of the Euafricasian Ocean?” I try to interpret his words. But they just don’t make sense.
“Cheese? Are you serious?” I squeeze my temple, not understanding his words.
“I am very serious.” He turns around, walking in the direction of the balcony before stopping. “Now, about the Chietze.”
I am definitely missing something in this conversation. Probably something important.
“How do you spell that?” I got a feeling…
“C-h-i-e-t-z-e.” …I sigh on the inside. This guy.
“JIZASU!”
.:.
“Master!” I hear a whining voice cry out, originating from the oaken doorway. Without turning around, I immediately deduce that it my closest advisor Crooksend, who has served my family faithfully since my father’s time.
“For heaven’s sake, look at the time!” he exclaims, pointing at a time-counter mounted above the doorway.
“Crookend, please! A genius’ mind needs no rest!” I laugh at at his futile attempts to put me to bed. Ignoring his words, I turn around to my battered workbench to continue working on the strange metal contraption in front of me, connecting various parts together.
“You may be a genius, young master, but there are other things that you should think of!” Crooksend reaches into the satchel by his side, producing a large pile of papers that should’ve been impossible to fit into the satchel.
“Now see here, Crookend!” I lay my tools down and turn around to face him.
“Suppose this; if, years ago, I had slept early nights, where would we be now?”
“For one thing, I would be in a gutter.” A literal answer, as always. “But there are more pressing matters as of right now!” he says, raising his voice and waving the papers slightly.
“Oh, that? Just use the signature machine over there.” I say, gesturing over to the desk situated behind the doorway. Crooksend responds by firmly planting his face into his palm, sighing and shaking his head in the process.
“Master, you can’t just wave these kind of things away! You actually have to look at them! What if you approve of something utterly ridiculous, like an elephant cavalry, or a declaration of war against Russia, or a militia of angry housewives, or-”
“Oh, that last one sounds fun.” I turn back towards the metallic structure on the bench, making the final adjustments to its inner parts.
“That’s just an example!” he shouts. “That’s beside the point!” He walks up towards me and starts waving the papers in front of my face. Glancing at him, it’s hard not to notice his beetroot red face.
I gently push his arm out of the way. “Now now Crookend, calm down.” I lift up my new invention, struggling slightly with the weight. “I can do all of that tomorrow.” I start walking slowly in the direction of the kitchen, struggling slightly with the weight of my newest creation.
“You said that yesterday!” he replies indignantly.
“I said ‘morrow of the morrow’, I believe.” Walking into my personal kitchen, I place down the contraption on a bench. Using my other hand, I forage my cupboard for samples to use for testing the food-preparatory.
“Are you saying I can’t remember anything?!” he cries out, slapping his fist against his chest while gesturing with his other hand to the heavens.
“Now now Crooksend; could you please stop with the melodrama?” I chuckle while chucking some samples into the machine, before connecting it to a crystal-fuel power generator.
“Oh god, why has thou abandoned thy people?! Oh why-”
As Crooksend launches into a monologue, emitting an air of melodrama, the toaster starts up, heating the cheese samples into a blob of fat.
After a few minutes a strange *clank* noise starts emanating from the toaster, before growing into a larger series of *clank clank clank*. Frowning slightly, I move around to inspect the back of the machine.
“Ah.” I glance over at Crooksend, still questioning the meaning of everything, in a manner not very befitting of a thirty-something year old man.
“Crookend.” He continues in full on soliloquy mode, oblivious to my words.
“…Crookend!” Standard levels of shouting seem to have a 50% chance effect on breaking his trance-like state. Unfortunately, today is not one of those times.
“…CROOKEND!” A roar unlike my own voice echoes around the room, finally snapping him to attention.
“What?!” he asks, his actions broken out of his dramatic monologue.
“Duck!” I pull a lever, which causes a machine to dispense two plates on the other side of the kitchen.
“Wha-“
I press a big red button on the toaster and immediately jump over the counter.
*SHOOM*
*SHOOM*
“Ah. Food’s ready.” I leap over my now white-faced advisor, retrieving the two plates of steaming food and subsequently crouch down to the floor to offer him some.
“Cheese?” I ask with a posed look.
“Chietze; please.” he answers with a sigh.
.:.
“…”
A single man sits deep in thought, staring at an image of a young man. The room is illuminated by a single candle, its flickering light creating a lightshow of shadows. The man places the picture on his desk, leaning back on his chair while breathing in a puff of smoke from his pipe.
Appearing to come to a conclusion of sorts, he gets up from his desk and walks over to the window, leaning on the weathered ledge. He sighs, breathing out a rolling cloud of smoke as he does so.
At the sound of a creaking hinge, he turns around to face the figure of the person who had just entered the room.
“Report.”
“I bring a message from the Authar.” The messenger pauses for breath, before continuing. “The master will be coming of age soon.”
“I know.” The man inhales another wave of smoke, before slowly exhaling through his nostrils, creating an image not unlike that of a British Dragon. “How soon?”
“The day before the end of the next cycle.”
The man breathes in another puff of smoke, before turning back to the window to look up at the moon.
“That was quick.”
“Indeed.”
“A mere 10 years.” Another breath of the pipe. “Must be some strange quirk of the universe, for the fate of the world to fall into the hands of mere teenagers.”
“With all due respect sir, you were a mere 19 years of age when you succeeded your father’s estate. And your daughters is now approaching the very same age.”
“And what of it?” Breath. “Not that it matters now, anyway. I’m sure there are more pressing matters?”
“Of course.The appropriate preparations have been made. All we do now is wait.”
“I see.” Another breath. The man uses his finger to trace through the smoke, creating the shape of a circle, before waving it away into nothing.
“Well then, shall we?”
“Indeed.”
*Click*
.:.
“Are we agreed?”
A part of me is relieved that the person on the other side of the line is unable to see my face right now. Another part, my hand, clenches the handle tightly, enough for my knuckles to turn white.
“<Yes.>” The reply is in the accent of an oriental tongue, consisting of clear, soft syllables. However, despite this they still manage to convey a harsh sense of weight in their words.
“Then we are agreed?” Please, in the name of Isamorph Newton please give me a straight answer.
“<It is as you say. 5000 gold pieces per unit of time for our services. The service is the sending over of an agent agent for purposes of accompaniment.>” I mentally sigh. So misleading.
“Can you explicitly say you agree? And I assume that your conditions are as we agreed upon in previous talks? Also, care to say what you’re really thinking? In addition, you still owe me 10000 gold for that bet!” A rush of words comes out from my mouth, and I hear a sigh waft over the device in response.
“I A-gu-lri.” A moment passes. “<See this is why I wanted to stick to Nipponese.>”
I remain composed. “<Also, that was 10000 gold My Way.>” On the outside, at least.
“Well then, thank you, O mighty Master Jizasu.” A sarcastic chuckle echoes in my ear.
“Ja, Head-Secretary-Chief Crooky.” I let out a small sigh myself.
*Clang*
Putting down the F.O.N.E., (Far Oudio Networking Envention), back onto its H.O.L.D.E.R., (High Oudio Linguistic Device Emission Recharger), I stretch back onto my C.H.A.I.R. (Comfortable something somthing Rest), and lighting a C.I.G. (God, the master has terrible naming sense), I sink into a transient state of meditation.
Oh god, why does time pass so quickly?
.:.
“Now, where was I?” Master Jizasu asks as he puts down the international communications linking device.
I choose to stare blankly at him, adding in a menacing smile.
“Explaining.” Should be obvious enough.
“Ah yes, that’s right.” He pauses for a moment, as though he’s lagging. “So, Shinobi.” I inwardly sigh, before interrupting him.
“Shiorin. How many times must I go over this?” I am rewarded with a blank stare for a few seconds.
“Ah yes!” he says, slapping his right fist triumphantly into his left palm. “Well, you know, language and reading and all of that.”
“For a master, master, you sure are carefree.” I say, changing my kneeling position on the ground into a squat.
“Well, what are you going do?” he replies, shrugging his shoulders as he gestures
with his hands. “Anyway, you got a job.”
“Finally!”
“Now now, don’t get too excited.” I stand up, walk over and slam my forehead into his face.
“And whose fault do you think would that be, Master?” I ask, clenching my hand into a fist and holding it up into his line of sight. “I haven’t had a job in a poking year!”
“My twin brother?” I sigh. I step back. I turn around, walk a few paces away. I turn around, swinging my fist.
“YOU DON’T HAVE A TWIN BROTHER!” I shout as a mysterious force sends him flying into the air.
I guess I should mention, the mysterious force is my fist.
“AAAHHH!” His voice trails off into the distance, his momentum sending him into the hot spring twelve stories below.
“Seriously.” I jump down after him, descending using the various protrusions from the oriental styled palace. I still want an explanation, after all.
.:.
Spoiler! :
Batteries and Illustrations not included.
